


Quiet Reading

by Eruphadriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Library Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruphadriel/pseuds/Eruphadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The library in Skyhold is supposed to be a quiet place for the Inquisitor to read... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Reading

**Author's Note:**

> First place prize for my Tumblr fic giveaway! Thank you very much for the request -- it was wonderful to write.

For the seventh time that evening, Triss opened  _The Tale of the Champion_  and propped it up in her lap. Desperation clutched her chest tight. She  _had_  to read it this time, no distractions, no tangents. She couldn't afford to lose focus again.

It had been Bull's fault. All of the Chargers had a hand in it, really. A rousing game of "Never Have I Ever" turned into "You slept with Carver Hawke?!" before Triss realized Varric was sitting not three tables away. It wasn't until the Inquisitor had bragged about that particular adventure leading to her meeting the famous Marian Hawke that the dwarf swaggered over.

Okay, maybe it had been her fault.

She had told the story of the one-night stand during her time in Kirkwall so many times that even she barely recalled the lines between fact and theatrical exaggeration. In truth, Triss had not met the Champion before reaching Skyhold. The most contact they ever had was a sighting at the elven alienage. But nights of drinking and fireside storytelling had led to slight hyperbole. In her most recent version, she had stumbled back to the Hawke Estate with Carver only to find Marian and Anders, before Hawke invited Triss on the expedition to the Deep Roads – which she had graciously declined.

The only truth in that story was, of course, the drunken stumbling.

Cassandra had lent Triss her copy of Varric's bestseller, and she at last had the library to herself. But she couldn't avoid Varric for much longer. They were leaving for the Western Approach in the morning, and she was hardly thirty pages in. And she was not going to endure his smug jabs for the entire mission.

Triss shifted in Dorian's chair. Then she squirmed. At last she sighed, rose, and punched the cushion. For an eighth time, she started the second chapter. But just as the story pulled her closer, beckoning her into the Kirkwall she used to know, footsteps broke the quiet of the empty library.

She kept her gaze fixed on the novel, thumbing a dog-earred page as the stranger climbed the rotunda. Her eyes drifted over the words, but her mind was far from the story.  _Heavy boots._   _Jangling armour. Warrior._  Triss lifted the book to shield her face as the door closed and the lock snapped.  _A key? No... Leliana?_

She let her eyes rise from the page. It was a mistake.

"This is a  _sight_. Tristane Trevelyan, reading a book. I should commission a painter to create a portrait for the main hall."

Triss kept the book up in front of her face, voice muffled by it. "Has the Inquisition's commander  _finally_  developed a sense of humour? Alert the recruits immediately; they'll be dancing in the courtyard."

Cullen chuckled. Gloved fingers covered the top of the book as he plucked it from her hands. Triss reached to snatch it back, but he was too quick. He shut it on his hand and examined the cover.

"'The Tale of the Champion'? I'm surprised you don't have your own chapter. According to Bull, you made  _quite_  the impression on the Hawke family."

Triss glared up at him. "It's been a few years. I need to refresh my memory."

"Why? Afraid Varric will quiz you?"

Triss tore the book from his hands. She found her place and stared at the page, pretending to read.

"Triss?" ventured Cullen. "Inquisitor?"

He ran his fingers over her knee. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. His voice lowered, sultry, dark.

"You promised to spend your last night with me, and I haven't forgotten."

"I'm  _reading_." The words shook, the tremble in her voice flimsy and weak. She cleared her throat.

Cullen's fingers trailed up her leg and across to her inner thigh. "Are you? Then I won't disturb you."

Cullen stepped away from her, and Triss returned her attention to the book. Hawke was just about to meet Varric in Kirkwall's –

 _Clang!_  Triss's gaze slid away from the page. A pauldron rocked gently on the floor, the silver shell shimmering in the torchlight.  _Clang!_  A second pauldron dropped beside it. His cloak snapped and billowed. She was plunged into crimson-tinted shadow. Triss yanked the cloak off of her and threw it to the ground.

"Andraste, stay my hand," she muttered, nearly ripping the page as she turned it.

Two bracers hit the floorboards, rolling to a stop by a bookcase. Straps snapped loose, leather rasping against metal buckles. Another clang echoed through the rotunda, this one louder than the last few, as Cullen shirked his breastplate.

Triss chewed her lip. She took the book one word at a time. A cream-coloured tunic fluttered to the floor.

"Stop it," she ordered in a growl.

"Stop what? I'm only getting comfortable." He groaned. Triss glimpsed over the book to see Cullen roll his shoulders. "Those recruits are too spry for me."

"Then at least be quiet!" She closed the book on her thumb and smacked his rear with it.

Cullen hissed at the strike and chuckled. The commander strolled away, into the next alcove. He vanished behind the bookcase.

Triss closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Varric would destroy her with a smile. Bull would never let it go. Dorian would remain silent, but in a matter of weeks all of Skyhold would be chattering. This was more important than Corypheus. This was a matter of  _honour._

Cullen's trousers flew to the railing and crumpled to the floor. His smalls followed.

Triss swallowed hard and glared at the words, script blurring as she bit her lip so intensely that it went numb. Where had she stopped reading?

Two minutes passed, then five. Hawke was learning about Bartrand and Varric's quest for the Deep Roads. Triss was just being pulled back into the story when Cullen let out a restrained gasp.

"Maker," he whispered, a moan following the word. The bookcase between them trembled.

Triss lowered the novel to her lap and peered through a gap between the books. Five shelves up from the bottom, she spied the tanned planes of his abdomen, rigid in places with carefully-toned muscles. His stomach flexed and relaxed sporadically. Triss half-rose from her chair and leaned forward to glance down.

The chair creaked. The Inquisitor squeezed her eyes shut at the sound. Cullen laughed, low and raspy.

"Trying to get a better look?" Teasing, tempting. His words prickled beneath her skin.

Triss took her seat again and opened the book. Chapter three was only a few pages aw–

"Ah, Andraste!" Cullen's breath came in short, shallow huffs. Skin whispered against skin. Triss shifted uncomfortably, her focus suddenly fixated on the seam of her pants juxtaposed to her sex.

 _He kept calling on me, Hawke's brother. Eventually, I had to turn him away!_  She would never live that down. She had to finish.

The shadows that stretched across the floor spoke of late evening more than earlier morning. She listened closely to his rhythm, the time between his gasps... He would be awhile. She had time.

The Inquisitor pressed a hand between her legs, listening for movement, concentration teetering between the salacious scene beside her and her own desire. She didn't dare undo her trousers, for fear of Cullen hearing the scrape of laces through grommets. Friction brought heat, the pads of her fingers burning as she rubbed herself through her pants.

Cullen's hand slammed onto one of the shelves, rattling the entire case. Sending four books tumbling. A growling moan sounded from deep in his chest.

Triss responded with a longing whimper. She slapped her hand over her mouth.

Bare feet padded across the floor, and the Inquisitor quickly hid her face in her book as he rounded the corner.

"Did you say something?" Cullen's voice was on the verge of triumphant, laced with hoarse desire.

"Hmmm? Oh, I'm sorry. I was just finishing this chapter."

Triss hazarded a glance up from the page. Her grip on the tome tightened to see him standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, hip jutting to the side, hard cock on blatant display, no shame dyeing his cheeks pink.

Her face flushed with heat. She turned a page dramatically, though she hadn't finished it yet. That was when she felt his fingers on her knee again. They roamed over her thigh, across... Down...

"Are you sure? Because I swore I heard," he ran a knuckle over the apex of her thighs, "something."

"I'm a-afraid you're... mistaken." She pursed her lips, heart trying to escape her chest.

He loomed above her, working her belt buckle open with one hand. Triss shut her eyes as Cullen pulled the laces of her trousers and they loosened around her waist.

"I think you're lying." It was a threatening hum. Two fingers traced the waistband of her smalls. "Hmm... What will I find?"

Triss resisted the urge to open her legs for him as his fingers roamed down, still above her smalls. She peeked up at him just as his mouth curled into a smirk.

"Already soaked through your smalls? Just from listening to me?"

Triss stopped herself from kicking him. "Don't get cocky."

Cullen dropped to his knees before her. He unlaced her boots, removing them one at a time. Next came her footwraps, which unravelled easily at his touch. His fingers hooked into both the waistband of her smalls and trousers, easing them from her hips in slow, smooth movements. Triss lifted herself up from the chair, allowing him to slide her clothes off.

Cullen flung her pants aside and shoved her knees apart with ravenous haste. Bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his eyes dipped hungrily over her glistening sex. Triss swore she heard a low growl from him, a predatory sound that served only to reinforce the intensity of her lust.

Before hooking her legs over his shoulders, though, the commander ripped the book from her hands and threw it over the railing.

Long before the book crashed to the ground, Cullen sealed his mouth over her arousal.

The Inquisitor wound her fingers into his hair, his nails digging into her thighs, nose bumping against her clit which was swollen from her frottage. His tongue darted between her folds, tasting her,  _teasing_  her. Heels digging into his back, head tipping against the chair, Triss rocked her hips. Rutting against his mouth, edging him upwards, faster, deeper, harder. Moans mingled with his name as he pushed two fingers past her entrance. He pulled away playfully. Once. Twice.

"Please," she rasped. "Fuck... Please, Cullen."

He leaned back to meet her eyes. "Am I better than Carver Hawke?"

Triss's mouth fell open at the question. She glanced down at Cullen, whose eyes gleaned with a wicked light. She grasped the back of his head and forced him between her legs again.

"Not a word, Rutherford," she ordered in a growl.

She could feel his smile, his laughter, against her. Two sword-calloused fingers slipped into her. He curled them up, pressing against the spot that had her writhing beneath him every night, that now ignited fiery heat at the base of her spine. Dark golden eyes locked on hers as his tongue flicked over her throbbing nub.

Triss fell further down into the chair. Hot waves lapped at her, climax inbound like a storm, rearing up and threatening to strike at the next brush of his tongue.

"C-Cullen," she moaned. " _Maker_... Don't stop...!"

The commander grasped her wrist, her hand yet secured on the back of his neck. Cullen broke her grip on him. He leaned back onto the balls of his feet as he eased her trembling legs down from his shoulders.

The Inquisitor sat up. "Wh-What are you –"

The words were swallowed up, Cullen's mouth clashing against hers, tongues caressing. Triss could taste herself on his lips. Her fingers threaded through his hair as Cullen's strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her up as he took her place in the chair.

He made quick work of the buckles on her leather curaiss. Before Triss registered what was happening, Cullen flung the garment away and tore off her tunic. The commander took a moment to graze his fingers over her bound breasts. She shivered at his ghosting touch. It was the Inquisitor who wriggled out of her binder.

His mouth ran along the red imprints the binding had left, tracking them down in a loop along her chest, tongue circling a nipple until it stood taut before moving on to explore the imprints left around her ribs. Triss tipped his chin up and smirked down at him, worship lighting his eyes. Her smile was a wordless beckon. He straightened, she leaned down, lips brushing before she claimed his in a searing kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth, sliding against hers, the breach more than welcome by the sudden fervour with which she forced him closer.

The kiss broke, and their foreheads pressed together, noses bumping. His panting breaths warmed her chin. The pause lasted only a moment. Cullen's erection pressed between them, begging for attention, and Triss rolled her hips against him. His cock grinded against her slick folds. The Inquisitor lifted herself up onto her knees, legs on either side of him.

His teeth grazed the underside of her breast, ticking, tantalizing as she aligned his arousal with hers. Cullen's groan echoed through the rotunda as she lowered herself onto him. She relished in the exquisite, sharp sensation that shot through her as she stretched to accommodate him.

"Wait," he rasped, hands stilling her hips as he caught his breath.

"What? Too  _spry_  for you, Commander?" The teasing words were chased by a giggle. It quickly morphed into a moan when Cullen thrust up into her.

He set a quick pace, bucking up from the chair and nipping at her pulse point. Triss's nails raked down the back of his neck. Prompting him forward, sex tightening around his cock. After all his enticing, she was ready to shatter in his arms, sparks jolting through her when he pressed a hand between them. Skilled fingers rubbed against her clit, igniting fire in her, hip bones clashing and biting kisses exchanged.

She could hear her heart pound in her ears. The cavernous rotunda was filled with their panting, their curses, their sweet sighs, their shameless pleas for  _more_. The wanton slap of flesh against flesh, the wet lap of his tongue against her nipple. The sounds overwhelmed her, overloading her senses, every fierce snap of his hips meeting hers beckoning the exalted crescendo that built in her.

Feeling her end rapidly approaching, Triss leaned back and moved Cullen's hand, fingers finding just the right spot as the first wave hit her. It cut her breath short, hips stuttering, his name a breathy outcry. Her entire body went into spasm with each nip of his teeth over her breast, every drive of his hips into hers.

Amidst her own blissful heights, insatiable seconds ticking by like an eternity, Triss felt Cullen’s fixed pace turn reckless, chasing his own end and finding it with a feral groan against her neck. His teeth sank into the flesh of her throat as he stifled another cry, the heat of his seed filling Triss up with each sporadic crash of his hips.

The Inquisitor rocked against him, riding out the subtle aftershocks that bloomed at her core. Her lips traced over his ear, words hardly more than a ecstasy-drunk sigh.

“Bend me over the railing.”

Before Cullen could respond, a voice rose through the chamber, a thread of annoyance woven through every syllable.

“Perhaps it would be wisest to pick up what you’ve already thrown down here,” Solas called to them. “I don’t recall ever acquiring a copy of Varric’s ‘The Tale of the Champion.’”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As usual, feedback is appreciated and encouraged ^^


End file.
